


There's a Cat Sitting on the Windowsill

by nimfvirti



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimfvirti/pseuds/nimfvirti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva McGonaggal's childhood and her reasoning behind choosing a cat as her Animagus form. A short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Cat Sitting on the Windowsill

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi :) It's a story I wrote years ago. It was when we didn't know that Minerva was a half-blood. With this story I tried to show how I imagined McGonagall's childhood and reasoning behind her choosing a cat as her animagus form.  
> All mistakes are mine, and oh, I know it irks some people, but I refer to a cat as a “she”, I can't stand when people use “it” talking about their animals. It's my small pet peeve an I'm sorry if you don't like me referring to cat as a “she”
> 
> Disclaimer: I wish I'd owned Harry Potter but I don't. So please don't sue me, it's just a fanfiction. Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling and her brilliant mind :)

There's a cat sitting on the windowsill...

The Window. That's where Minerva used to spend her time, sitting on the windowsill. She used to climb there, after she had a fight with her mother. When her father made her study spells that were way too difficult for a little girl; when he tested her on ancient runes knowledge. She used to sit there when her mother came back from shopping with new clothes and cloaks. They were all brand new, yet so out of fashion. They were made with that weird, stiff fabric, that a child could not be comfortable in, running around with her friends. But this wasn't her world anyway. Minerva was meant to be a well behaved young lady with proper manners. All her cloaks were properly ironed, clean and stiff. The little girl had no other choice but to wear them. No matter how much she hate them, how she hated that type of fabric and how ashamed she was of her unfashionable clothes. What mother said, Minerva had to do.

At the beginning, she tried to protest. Well, as much as a child was possible to. She tried to plead with her mother, ask her to buy her something that everyone else used to wear. But her mother would never listen. Her mother seemed to hear none of it and Minerva used to run away and hide in her room, crying.   
Behind the closed doors, glass window was her only friend. Cold surface used to cool down her burning cheeks. She watched the life through the window glass. Free, happy animals who could do whatever they wanted to without anyone telling them what to do. Happy and free.  
Other children were like those garden animals, like stray cats running around rose bushes. But Minerva.... She felt like a bird in a golden cage. She wanted to escape but the metal bars made it impossible. A tiny skylark bird, kept in a cage made out of expensive metal. Guarded and protected all the time. Her only escape was Hogwarts. At least that's what she used to think.

She had spent years sitting on the same windowsill, in exactly the same place and position. After all this time, the window was the same but Minerva was different. She wasn't seven anymore, now she was almost 17 years old young lady. Only two months left to her birthday. 60 days and she'd be an adult. 

While sitting on the windowsill, she was thinking about coming exams. Soon, she'd take one of the most difficult exams in the magical world. Animagus exam. She was afraid, because there was barely any time left and she still had no idea what form of animal she would like to take.  
Minerva's parents, of course, made a decision for her a long time ago. They knew perfectly what animal their daughter should choose.   
“A brave animal,” her father said. “A lion perhaps.”  
He thought it would be the best decision. At the end of the day she was in Gryffindor, as he used to be. And courage and bravery were something any Gryffindor should be proud of. But Minerva had her own opinion on this matter.  
And there was her mother who thought that her daughter should decide on an animal which symbolize wisdom.   
“An owl,” she said. “Or some other dignified and handsome animal.”  
Minerva disagreed with that too. She wasn't the same young girl that she used to be. She grew up, learnt to have her own opinion. She's not a happy, wild child anymore. Her happiness and wilderness were killed by her aristocratic, an demanding family before she even got to experience them.. Now, Minerva was poised and restrained, just like her mother. She never wanted to be like that, but clearly nurture won over nature this time.   
Minerva looked like her mother too. Tall and straight with black hair in a tight bun on her head. Elegant cloaks and zero spontaneity. She was exactly the way, they wanted her to.  
This was how she was on the outside, but deep down, there was still a tiny sparkle of her childish happiness. Desire to be wild and free. Eventually, tiny sparkle became a flame. And soon flame became a fire, when she was watching stray cats playing in the garden. They reminded her about her dreams and helped her to solver her problem.

That night she fell asleep sitting on the windowsill and morning sun woke her up. Ignoring pain in her muscles, protesting that kind of treatment, she went to eat her breakfast, where her mother was waiting, impatient to know Minerva's decision. Her mother's stare asked the question.  
“Cat,” she said bravely, knowing exactly what her mother was asking for.   
A dish, her mother was levitating with the use of her wand, stopped and fell to the ground, smashing into tiny pieces, when Mrs McGonagall heard shocking news.  
“A cat?” she asked, holding her breath. “A cat,” she repeated under her breath.  
“A cat? Where's that wild animal hiding this time?” asked her father, slowly walking into the kitchen.  
“You're daughter wants to change into a cat,” petrified woman whispered to her husband.  
“What? This is not going to happen!” sternly said her father when the first shock worn out. “Minerva McGonaggal, I am going to say it only once. You are not choosing a cat to be your animagus form.”  
“Why not?” she asked, knowing the answer perfectly well. But she also knew, that no matter what he would say, she wasn't going to change her decision. There were a lot of things you could say about Minerva McGonaggal, but the first thing people used to notice was that she was extremal stubborn.   
“Because, it' a... it's a cat,” her mother said.  
“Mother. Father. Please, just listen to me;” she started calmly. “It is my choice, not yours. It is my animagus form, not yours. My chosen animal is meant to reflect me, my should. Not your. Can you please stop telling me what to do, because I've already made up my mind and I am not going to change it.”  
Her parents exchanged silent looks but they said nothing.

When Minerva passed her exam with flying colours, they only said congratulations. They were extremely proud but they did not want to see her daughter changing into a cat. They hugged her and went home.  
When their daughter became a teacher, they were even more proud. Such a prestigious position, excellent school. They told everyone they knew, yet Minerva had no idea how proud they were.   
The first time they saw their daughter changing into a cat was on their death beds. They were proud of her, eventually they learnt that it wasn't a bad choice.

Tabby cat with black markings around the eyes, looking like glasses, was sitting on the castle's windowsill. This cat is free, she escaped the golden cage. But is that so? Was that what she wanted?  
Minerva wanted to be free, but she had no idea what it really meant. Now, she was free but she never enjoyed it. She didn't see a reason too.   
She never wanted to be like her mother, yet she became her mother. Both introverted an poise. But, as it turned out, but loving and caring in their hearts. But this Minerva learnt too late. Always thinking her mother was cold, when in reality she wasn't. She realized her mother really loved her when it was too late.

There's a cat is sitting on the windowsill. In her green eyes, you can see tears.   
It is the only time Minerva allows herself to cry. In reality, she's never free. None of us is. But Minerva, as a cat feels she free an she used her freedom in a way only she understands.

There's a cat sitting on a windowsill...

 

 

PS. Sorry for all the mistakes; English is not my first language, if you found any, please let me know and I will correct them asap :)


End file.
